


Raven Feathers

by CelestialSilences



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Chan is a bard, Happy Halloween!!, Hyunjin is a Plague Doctor, M/M, Minor Violence, Plague, Supernatural Elements, This was meant to be longer rip, mentions of minor character death, vague medieval setting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:48:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27317272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelestialSilences/pseuds/CelestialSilences
Summary: Hwang Hyunjin is a Plague Doctor, known across the land for his medical prowess, and Chan is utterly enraptured with everything he does. But behind Hyunjin's mask and sweet demeanor lies something far less benign than outward appearances would suggest.(Chan doesn't really mind.)
Relationships: Bang Chan/Hwang Hyunjin
Comments: 7
Kudos: 60





	Raven Feathers

**Author's Note:**

> I was going to write two halloween fics but college kicked my ass so,,,,, enjoy just this lmao. 
> 
> (I forced my creative writing class to beta this, which was lowkey mortifying even tho they liked it. If anyone in that class sees this: no you didn't :) )

His name is Hyunjin, and he is a savior.  
  
While humans are taught from birth to worship only gods and royalty, the Plague Doctors are essentially both, and they are nothing if not appropriately venerated in every city they come to. Although they’re not thrown parades or banquets for their service, they’re sung of in every settlement in the land, and no Plague Doctor ever pays for food and rent where they work. While most people can offer them little, they do what they can to express their appreciation, and the doctors work in kind to save the lives of every patient they can.  
  
The Black-Blood plague is a uniquely vicious magical disease, often killing the infected in less than a week. Those who catch it are doomed to rot from the inside out, their veins gradually turning black from decay until their heart or brain is too corroded to function and they finally, blessedly pass on. 

  
In some places those in total quarantine have managed to become infected, yet the Black-Blood will often sweep entire households and leave one person untouched for reasons unknown. No medicine, no forced quarantine, no ritual has been able to slow its spread in the slightest. There is no protocol for a disease like this- one can only go on about their life as per usual and pray they’ll remain unscathed.

  
The Plague Doctors carry no certain cure with them, but they’re welcomed almost everywhere anyway, their willingness to treat the sick and examine the dead invaluable in such a dangerous time. At the very least they can make the infected more comfortable before their inevitable passing. Hyunjin especially is revered for the work he does, a long list of overjoyed towns and cities gleefully singing his praises behind him. While no one knows just what it is that he does for his patients, his methods cut the Black-Blood’s lethality rate in half; as such, he’s the most sought-after doctor in the land.

  
Chan hears of his arrival within the hour, everyone in town abuzz with the news. While they’ve suffered fewer deaths than many other places, there are still far too many fresh graves behind the church for anyone’s comfort. Despite telling himself firmly not to gawk, he still finds himself at the edge of the town square, perched atop a crate to see over the crowd. 

There are two figures at the center of the throng, one of whom Chan recognizes as the mayor, and the other’s appearance is unmistakable. Hyunjin is clad in all black, a wide-brimmed hat shielding him from the late spring sunlight. A long coat flutters behind him, its dull sheen akin to that of raven feathers, and every other possible inch of skin is covered by leather elbow-length gloves and heeled boots that make his already tall frame even more imposing. In one gloved hand rests a cane with a strange bronze head, its shape impossible to make out from a distance. 

While his entire outfit is utterly striking, the most remarkable element by far is his mask. Crafted of black leather and covering his entire face, it’s made in the likeness of a bird, its beak long and seemingly sharp at its tip. The beady glass eyes of his mask glitter in the sunlight, their gaze somehow equal parts empty and piercing as they sweep across the crowd. For a moment Chan swears they make eye contact, but all too quickly the Plague Doctor’s gaze moves elsewhere. 

Hyunjin’s voice is velvet and down feathers to the ear as he introduces himself and expresses his wish to be of nothing but the greatest service to everyone. Before he can be crushed by an eager mob of well-wishers, however, he politely requests to be taken to the sickest people in town, and the mayor gladly leads him off with no further fanfare. 

Chan follows Hyunjin’s path with his eyes long after he’s gone from sight, mind alight with sudden inspiration. He’s heard many tales about Plague Doctors in recent months, most of them likely wildly exaggerated, but nothing compares to seeing the real thing in all of their haunting glory. Without consciously intending to, Chan rushes home to grab ink and paper, the first notes of a song already ringing in his mind. He’s absolutely stricken in the way he tends to be when he sees beautiful things in the forest or hears stories of great adventurers, and the thought of not capturing Hyunjin’s quiet majesty in song before the memory fades is nearly painful.  
  
He’s too shy to even think of speaking to Hyunjin- doctors, especially ones as distinguished as he is, far outrank him in status. Though Chan can read and write and is well-loved by his town, in front of Hyunjin he is still no better than a peasant in the face of a king. Bards aren’t exactly saving people’s lives at the moment. Regardless, Chan watches and writes and sings, and with every passing day his fascination with the enigma that is Hyunjin only grows.

  
  


  
Chan doesn’t properly see Hyunjin again until he’s walking home from the market one afternoon, a fresh load of groceries in the basket hanging off his arm, and he spots a figure perched atop a stone wall that used to be some long-destroyed building’s foundation.

  
He almost doesn’t register that it’s Hyunjin at first, then he notices his unmistakable beaked mask set on the stone next to him. His cane is leaning against the wall a little further over, and his leather hat hangs from one edge of its head. He’s evidently off-duty -as off-duty as a Plague Doctor can be, at least- and looks appropriately relaxed, posture loose and drinking in the sunlight. Even his leather gloves have been taken off, laid underneath his mask to keep them from blowing away. 

  
Hyunjin is pale, paler than he’d expected. His hair is long and flaxen, dripping down slender shoulders like a waterfall, its frontmost strands tied up and out of his face with a cherry-red ribbon. One slender, elegant hand scrawls in a leather-bound book of some kind, veins shifting like river water beneath his skin with every penstroke. Chan wishes he could read it, understand what makes Hyunjin such a gifted doctor. Instead he stares, utterly transfixed by the sight before him.   
  


Hyunjin looks lonely there, a bird estranged from its flock. Plague Doctors rarely interact with the healthy; though the Black-Blood isn’t contagious through air or touch, most people still choose to err on the side of safety and keep their distance. The life of a Plague Doctor is one of ceaseless movement, of moving from one town to another and staying nowhere long enough to even consider growing roots. If Hyunjin has friends or family, he’s left them behind long ago. 

  
Chan wishes he were brave enough to talk to him. Maybe he’d be able to join Hyunjin atop the wall, their legs swinging in the air as they discussed whatever it is he’s writing about. Still, some subconscious fear stops Chan from moving, from doing anything other than gawking shamelessly.

As if hearing his thoughts, Hyunjin suddenly looks up from his writing, glancing around curiously for a moment before his eyes find Chan, frozen on the path below him. He smiles, wide and effervescent, and inclines his head respectfully. Chan’s heart stutters. Feeling heat bloom in his cheeks, he shyly waves back, risking a quick smile before shifting his gaze resolutely towards the ground and keeps walking. He thinks he hears a high, hiccupy giggle resound above him, but when he turns around Hyunjin is entirely absorbed in his writing once more. Chan doesn’t look back once the rest of the way home. 

As days slowly bleed into weeks and spring blooms into summer, Hyunjin settles into town as though he’d always been there, as unremarkable a sight as the buildings and the trees.

Chan, who has by now admitted to himself that he’s entirely smitten, writes songs about how Hyunjin, with his long, graceful limbs and musical laugh, is as auspicious a sign as a crane or a hummingbird; his presence denotes the coming of spring, the brilliant blooming of life from the ashes of death. He is magic in a world thought to be bled dry of everything extraordinary.

Hyunjin is by far the best muse he’s ever had. 

Soon enough everyone in town is singing his new ballads, often off-tune but always with enthusiasm. It’s almost embarrassing to hear Chan’s own lyrics sung back at him daily, their meaning far more romantic than he’d realized while he was writing them, but when someone tells him that even Hyunjin has been humming them while he works, nothing in the world could stop him from writing more.  
  


He doesn’t follow Hyunjin around intentionally -he’s not _that_ obsessed- but sometimes Chan will see him heading to make house calls, and the urge to follow him to see how he works is almost overpowering. Today is one such day; Chan, eternally looking for ways to show Hyunjin the extent of his affections even from afar, had decided to go looking for aromatic plants for him to fill his mask with. He’d picked the most fragrant roses, carnations, and lavender he could find in the fields surrounding the town, and he’s more than content with his findings. Hyunjin will surely appreciate the gift. 

As if summoned, Chan spots the aforementioned Plague Doctor walking side-by-side with a tired-looking woman towards one of the farmhouses on the edge of town. No one would notice if Chan were to listen in on their appointment, not this far from the center of town. While it’s deeply disrespectful to spy on him, a chance to see Hyunjin at work is too enticing to pass up. There’s an open window on the side of the house, and Chan darts over to it and peeks inside. 

The window is tiny and far away from the room Hyunjin and his patient end up walking into, but Chan watches intently anyway, half-wondering if he should be taking notes. No one knows a thing about Hyunjin’s methods -or at the very least are unwilling to share- so he might very well be the first person ever to see how Hyunjin is so effective at what he does. 

They’re in what looks like a bedroom, and Chan can make out the willowy form of Hyunjin standing next to a bed occupied by a small, frail-looking body. The woman stands at the threshold of the door for a moment, gripping the wall as if to steady herself, then she walks forward and out of Chan’s sight. 

“This is my mother,” Chan hears the woman say, “and my daughter. They’ve had it for four days.” Her voice is calm but unsteady, one new stressor away from cracking beyond comprehension. Hyunjin hums in consideration. 

“I’m getting sick too.” Fabric rustles- perhaps the woman is showing her black veins to Hyunjin? “Whatever you can do- please, do it. Help them.”

“I cannot save all of you,” Hyunjin warns. “I can cure two of you, at the cost of one.”

“Who?” the woman asks. 

“You may decide.” 

A long pause follows. Chan thinks he can make out the occasional soft murmur, but he’s too far away to make out any of it, and too confused to understand the context regardless. 

  
“Your mother’s life for yours, then,” Hyunjin says, and Chan nearly starts at the break in the silence. “And your daughter’s. Is that acceptable?” 

“Will it hurt her?” the woman asks nervously. 

“Less than the Black-Blood,” Hyunjin replies calmly. 

The woman pauses for a moment. “Are you sure you want this, mother?” 

If a verbal reply comes, it’s too faint for Chan to hear. “Yes, then,” the woman says, a slight tremor in her voice. “You have a deal.”  
  


Chan catches a flash of pale skin as Hyunjin reaches towards the bed and cups the older woman’s cheek in his hand. Something _glows_ within the room, a brilliant, algae sort of green, only to flicker and die long before Chan can discern what it might be. 

“She’s... gone, then?” the woman asks distantly.

“Yes,” Hyunjin says quietly. 

A sob follows, choked and clearly unintentional. There’s a long moment of quiet wherein all Chan can hear is the soft sounds of her crying.  
  


“Thank you,” she manages eventually. “For saving my daughter. And me.”

“My pleasure,” Hyunjin says. “Remember, if you tell anyone about this, I will kill you both.”

The woman says something in response, but Chan is too stunned to process it, jerking away from the window as if burnt and sinking to his knees. His head hits the stone wall of the house behind him, but he barely notices the sting. 

Hyunjin is a _demon._ A terrifying creature of legend who consumes the souls of the innocent and manipulates the vulnerable to lead them into darkness. Sin embodied, evil incarnate in a human shell. No wonder he’s here, stealing the souls of the sick and desperate in exchange for the safety of their loved ones. No wonder no one seems to know what exactly he does to cure an incurable disease. 

(No wonder he’s so beautiful.) 

Somehow the thought doesn’t horrify him in the way he knows it should. While Hyunjin might be a monster in human skin, he’s still helping people. Those whose lives and souls he’s taking are on their deathbeds anyway; if anything, he’s easing their suffering and making their deaths mean something. 

Chan looks at the bouquet in his hands. Hyunjin seems to be a far kinder demon than most humans, and until proven otherwise, Chan sees no reason not to trust him. It’s not like he has much choice, regardless- no one would believe him if he ended up spilling Hyunjin’s secret. 

Not that he’d ever dream of doing that; that could hurt Hyunjin, which is the last thing he wants. Chan knows he should be far more concerned than he is about being enamored with a literal _demon,_ but he has more important things to think about- he has a bouquet to deliver, for one. 

Chan ends up leaving the flowers atop the stone wall Hyunjin frequents, as no one knows where he spends his nights. Some selfish instinct forces him to wait for Hyunjin to come by and find it, wanting to see his reaction, and within the hour he does, trotting up to the wall with a somehow palpable air of confusion.  
  
Hyunjin tilts his head at the bouquet, looking not unlike a curious bird, then reaches down to pick it up. With his free hand he delicately ruffles the flowers, shifting their stems and petals to see every plant in the arrangement. 

Then, to Chan’s surprise, he carefully removes his mask, setting it on the stones beneath him. Getting to see Hyunjin’s face is an unexpected treat, and Chan hazards taking a few steps towards him, careful to keep most of his body hidden behind the trees.  
  
The first thing Chan notices are his eyes. Even from a distance, they’re now a deep emerald that gleams in the sunlight like a hummingbird’s feathers. His skin, already so pale, now looks positively ashen, though his lips are a brilliant, near-bloody shade of red.  
  
He looks- not _wrong,_ per say, but _off,_ like a painting made with no reference model or song sung in an incorrect key. Not human, surely. No mundane being could manage to look so entirely dead yet so electrifyingly alive all at once.  
  
Chan finds he cares surprisingly little, and as he watches Hyunjin smell the flowers and smile, giggling to himself in excitement, the only thing he can bring himself to feel towards him is a gentle warmth.  
  


  
  
Chan loves what he does beyond description, but being a bard comes with certain inherent risks. He does his best to face them unflinchingly, but there are some misfortunes he simply cannot prepare for or fight against.  
  
There’s a very rich, very pompous nobleman passing through town this week, on his way to some sort of political event in the next city over, and a particularly nasty ballad has sprung up about him and his alcoholic tendencies. It’s a catchy tune, its lyrics sharp and cutting in a way that speaks to some personal offense of the writer, and it spreads through town like wildfire. The first time Chan hears it he can’t help but laugh aloud at the sheer venom dripping from every line- he can’t imagine what the nobleman did to warrant a musical evisceration of this level, but his reputation will never be the same.  
  
When the nobleman gets wind of it, he’s furious, demanding the bard behind the song be caught and punished. No one in town bothers with more than a falsely-pitying apology; the ballad blew in from some other town and, short of outlawing music, there’s nothing anyone can do to save him from having to hear it every time he steps outside. After one too many disingenuous condolences, the nobleman promises to take vengeance into his own hands if necessary, shouting so loud he spooks every horse in town. This would be a meaningless threat, save for one small problem.  
  
There’s exactly one bard in this town- Chan. 

He manages to avoid trouble for so long he almost thinks he’s in the clear, until he’s walking home one night from picking lavender for a new bouquet for Hyunjin and a group of men stumble out from behind a bush. They reek of alcohol so strongly it’s nearly palpable, the nobleman at their center, and demand Chan be punished for his “crimes.” Chan didn’t write the song and has no idea who did, but the men are drunk and far past caring. 

Chan’s pleas for mercy fall on deaf ears as they approach, sloppy in their drunkenness but still far bigger and stronger than him. It doesn’t take more than a couple of hits for him to hit the ground, wheezing at the sudden loss of oxygen, and through the burning tears in his eyes he watches as the men form a loose circle around him and start kicking everywhere they can reach. They’re slurring insults at him the whole time, he’s sure, but he’s in so much pain that all he can hear is the roar of his heartbeat in his ears.  
  
It’s not until one of them pulls out a hunting knife that Chan realizes he might not survive this. He’s never been much of a fighter, and he knows for a fact a few of his ribs are already cracked from their assault. Though he tries his best to curl in on himself, one of the men kicks him in the abdomen until he can do little more than wrap one arm around his ribcage and pray. The knife slides into his stomach with an almost sickening sensitivity, but within seconds he’s in far too much anguish to feel anything at all. He would scream, but he hasn’t been able to breathe for several minutes now.  
  
Only when they’re satisfied that Chan is beyond help do the men leave, spitting on the ground next to him as they do. His only company now is the moonlight and the sound of his own ragged breathing. He lays there in silent agony for an untold amount of time until the click of boots on dirt resounds in front of him. Chan tenses on instinct until he realizes the sound is accompanied by the rhythmic _thunk_ of a walking stick. No one in town walks with any kind of a staff, no one except for-  
  
“Oh no,” Hyunjin murmurs, voice anguished, as if he’s the one bleeding out by the side of the road. Chan, equal parts ashamed and exhausted, can’t bring himself to raise his head and look at him. The sound of footsteps ceases, and leather brushes his cheek a moment later to guide his face gently upward. Hyunjin’s glove is surprisingly cool against Chan’s skin, and he can’t help but relax into the touch. 

Forcing open his exhausted eyes, Chan focuses his gaze on Hyunjin, squatting so close to him the beak of his mask is nearly poking Chan’s face. Despite the emptiness in the mask’s glass eyes, their blank stare is almost comforting. At least he’s not going to die alone.  
  
“Who did this to you?” Hyunjin asks, and before Chan can so much as consider summoning up the effort to speak he’s already answering his own question. “That bastard in town, of course. If only all that money could buy him a brain.”

Chan is so surprised by the remark he can’t help but laugh, though the only sound that comes out is a watery cough. Hyunjin’s head tilts. “Don’t exert yourself,” he instructs. “Just relax and try to breathe.” 

“Since I’m about to die,” Chan slurs through numb, heavy lips, “can I see your face?” The words come out more coherently than expected, but he immediately bursts into a coughing fit, blood splattering across the dirt in front of him with every harsh exhale.  
  
If Hyunjin is surprised by the request, his body language doesn’t show it. “Of course,” he says gently, hands coming up to sweep his hat off his head and remove his mask, revealing silky blonde hair and warm brown eyes watching him with concern.  
  
“No,” Chan manages, the word dragging with it a glob of blood that trickles its way down his chin as he fights to finish his thought. “Real you.”  
  
Hyunjin is silent for so long Chan can’t help but look up at him, only to find him entirely frozen, wide-eyed and red tingeing his cheekbones. “What?” he asks distantly. 

“I- I know,” Chan forces out. Black spots are forming in the center of his vision now, and he tries desperately to blink them away, if only so he can see Hyunjin’s face for a little while longer. “You’re a demon.”

“And you- want to see me like that?” Hyunjin asks redundantly, as if he might have somehow misinterpreted. Chan’s head shifts against Hyunjin’s hands in his best attempt at a nod. 

“Oh,” Hyunjin says quietly. Then, like dye bleeding its way through water, his face shifts into what Chan knows is his true form, ashy skin and alabaster hair practically glowing in the moonlight. Up close he looks even less human, his slit-pupiled emerald eyes glowing with internal luminescence. His ears are a little too sharp at their tips and Chan could swear he catches a flash of fangs as Hyunjin licks his lips anxiously. After a moment of deliberation, he slips off one glove and shifts to cradle Chan’s head in his hand without a layer of leather in the way. 

Chan smiles. The strangely lukewarm sensation of Hyunjin’s touch is soothing, as if his very touch is a painkiller of sorts. Maybe it is, considering Hyunjin’s true nature.  
  
“I cannot heal you. There is no magic in the world that could save you this close to death,” Hyunjin says softly, grief twisting his voice, and Chan does little more than blink at him. He’d known that much and accepted his inevitable passing long before Hyunjin had arrived.  
  
“But,” Hyunjin continues, “there is one thing I can do for you.”

“What?” Chan rasps.

“I can make you mine,” he says, and there’s a weight in his voice that Chan has never heard before. “It’s no trifling decision. Your soul will be bound to me in service for all eternity. There is no escaping, no chance for freedom. The servants of demons are not treated kindly in the afterlife.” 

Hyunjin is right- there’s nothing about choosing to bind oneself to a demon that’s in any way trifling. But Hyunjin is no ordinary demon, Chan is no ordinary human, and these are no ordinary circumstances. 

“I accept,” Chan chokes out. 

The smile Hyunjin offers him is nothing short of radiant. “Are you sure?” he asks.

When Chan nods his smile only grows, too-wide and sharp-toothed but beautiful all the same. With his bare hand he brushes away a droplet of blood on Chan’s lower lip, then presses his finger to his lips to lick away the blood. “There,” he hums. “That should do it.”

Suddenly, as if he’s stepped into a beam of summer sunshine, the pain in his body melts away. Chan feels better than he has in years- no aches or pains, no omnipresent exhaustion, just calm and a buzzing sort of energy in his veins. He feels like he could kill a dragon, or write a thousand songs without resting. Climbing to his feet to meet Hyunjin’s gaze properly is almost too easy. 

They truly meet eyes for the first time, glittering emerald and warm caramel, smiling at each other almost shyly.  
  
“Thank you,” Chan says, and kisses him.  
  
His name is Hyunjin, and he is no savior- regardless, he’s saved Chan, and he can bring himself to care for little else. 

So when bards next spin stories of Hyunjin, Vanquisher of the Black-Blood, they’ll sing too of his other half. They’ll write ballads about the way they slip through city gates, coattails whirling around them like wings, and the way their canes touch the ground in perfect sync between every step. They’ll sing poems of the hundreds of lives they save, never once questioning how they so easily do something so few others can. 

_Angels,_ some people call them, and all the two of them ever do is laugh. _Not quite,_ they reply; after all, there’s a reason they’re dressed as ravens and not doves. 

**Author's Note:**

> The ending is kinda bad bc I genuinely just didn't want this in my drafts anymore lmao, sorry about that 
> 
> Have a fantastic spooky time, everyone!! Go be gay and do crime <3
> 
> [Twitter ](https://twitter.com/CelSilences)  
> [ CuriousCat ](https://curiouscat.me/CelestialSilences)
> 
> I do [commissions! ](https://twitter.com/CelSilences/status/1277485845428285441)


End file.
